


The Hit

by HDLynn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Banter, Blood and Injury, Boba Fett is still a bounty hunter, Boba can be obnoxious but respects women, Detective Noir, F/M, Mentions Of Infidelity, Minor Violence, Murder, Noir AU, Non-Consensual Touching, Private Detective!Reader, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Tension, Some Swearing, Teasing, fake kiss turns into real kiss, mentions of generic illegal mob activities, mob hits, set in a weird mix of post WW2 & Star Wars because I can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25321567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HDLynn/pseuds/HDLynn
Summary: When a client hires you to catch her cheating husband in the act you never expected to find yourself landing in between a Mob hit and an infamous bounty hunter.
Relationships: Boba Fett/Reader, Boba Fett/You
Comments: 10
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

The joint looked like trouble but that didn’t bother you. You had been hired to look for trouble, the kind of trouble that a man gets up to that has his poor little wife come crying to you.

Mrs. Alessio was pretty, petite, and had been weepy when she had come into your tiny office. The same sob story you had been hearing recently. She was sure her husband, of not even a year, was stepping out on her and she wanted to have the bastard caught.

It wasn’t the kind of job you relished, never did like getting in the middle of these kinds of domestic issues. From the look of her, Mrs. Alessio did come from money though, the sizable down payment for photos of the illicit affair sure convinced you. That and the fact she smelled of expensive European perfume and wore a walking suit that had to be from one of those French fashion houses with its understated elegance.

Snapping some pictures of philandering husbands in the act seemed to be the only type of job you had been able to pick up the past few months. But a job was a job, and ever since Hitler had been disposed of and the men returned from the front, you had noticed an immediate drop in people requiring your services as a detective. Now you were just a novelty, the ‘lady detective’. That rubbed you the wrong way. If you were good enough to track down information in more criminal concerns before the war ended you sure as hell didn’t get why you suddenly weren’t anymore. The only perk you had found to being a “lady” detective was that you had been deemed by sobbing dames as more approachable than the normal jackass male private detectives.

So that left you in a rather dark and dingy alleyway as night quickly fell over the city. As you made your way past the leaning brick walls of the nearby factory building, you looked back from where you had ducked into this tight alley and was relieved to not see anyone following you. Turning back to your goal, you quickly came to a break between two buildings you knew looked over a warehouse that was of interest.

Hunkering down, you tried not to kneel on the ground. You might be wearing trousers, but that didn’t mean you wanted to get your clothes soaked in whatever disgusting smelly sludge was by the large dumpster you were hiding by.

There they were, right on time. Mr. Alessio and two of his known associates, Lucio Alessi and Gio Romano, all piled out of a dark-colored car. They were easy to identify under the yellow-tinged light at the delivery door of the building.  
  
You were considering taking a quick photo as they went inside when a heavy hand practically slammed down on your shoulder before pulling you from your kneeling position and whipping you around, causing you to nearly lose hold of your camera.

“The fuck you doing here, kid?” came a deep, accented voice.

Australian? Maybe? Your brain decided to supply for some unknown reason instead of panicking.

You took in the man who was currently manhandling you. He grappled with your one arm so you use the other to jab instinctively into his side. He was tall, around six foot, warm golden-brown skin, dark eyes, maybe two-days worth of scruff, and black curling hair. Then, you saw the scarred and worn leather jacket in that odd but almost infamous shade of olive green. Kriffing, hell.

“Let go of me, Fett!” you hissed out, bringing an elbow down to break his hold on your arm.

Dark brown eyes glowered at you in confusion at hearing his name. You see the instant that Boba Fett realized that you were not, in fact, a kid as he had initially assumed. A mistake you could perhaps forgive since you had been crouching down on the ground.

It miffed you how quickly and silently he had come up on you, embarrassing really, to let your guard down like that. But more importantly, why in the world was fricking Boba Fett in this particular alley at the same time as you?

He didn’t say anything, his frown only deepening as he just shook his head before muttering your last name. He looked absolutely put out.

“What are you doing here?” you both ended up sputtering out at the same time.

The bounty hunter’s frown deepened as he nodded for you to go first.

“I was hired to track down Franco Alessio by his wife to catch the rat-bastard with his paramour,” you show the camera you had brought along to substantiate your words. “Doesn’t hurt he also has a bounty on him for skipping out on a court hearing for money laundering.”

The man just sighed, shaking his head.

“You really think little Franco is only in trouble for money laundering?”

You open your mouth to retort before snapping it shut with an audible click of teeth. It got you hot under the collar, but he was right. These mob types rarely were in the game with just one illegal activity under their belts.

Fett didn’t laugh at you, though, or even say something along the line of “I told you so.” Just a quirk of one eyebrow in a manner that you couldn’t immediately identify until he leaned back with his posture minutely more relaxed.

He had been pleased with you putting the pieces together? Interesting.

But the pleased look disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, “So you followed him here?”

“Yeah, and he went into that building over there. This is my case, Fett. I’m going to be the one bringing Alessio in,” you whispered heatedly.

He looked about ready to argue, but you both were interrupted by the muffled yet unmistakable crack of a gunshot.

You both crouch down instinctively, your heart pounding in your throat in fear and also a burst of excited adrenaline. Fett had a gun out, quick as you please, his eyes scanning for trouble as the sound of another shot rang out. You both could tell it was coming from the warehouse.

“And that,” Fett said as one of his large hand grasped your wrist as he began pulling you back down the alley, his movements brisk and measured, “means it is time for you to go.”

“Will. You. Stop. Manhandling. Me?” you bite out, twisting your arm to put enough pressure on his wrist to let up. The moment you were free you scampered back to your lookout, much to his chagrin.

You contemplated tossing him the finger but contained yourself…barely.

Crouching down again you pressed the tiny viewfinder on your camera and started taking snaps as one man — you think it was Alessio’s friend, Lucio — came out of the warehouse and moved the car closer to the warehouse loading dock.

You felt Fett crouch by you, thankfully not trying to corral you again. You probably would jab him in the kidney if he did that.

“How the fu-…kriff did you get a Minox?” Fett growled, looking over your tiny silver camera as if he was just seeing it. You couldn’t help but be slightly amused at his attempt to mind his language in your presence.  
You shrugged one shoulder.

“We all have our secrets, I’m sure if anyone could figure it out it would be the most infamous bounty hunter…well, on this coast maybe.”

Fett surprised you by letting the jab at his reputation slide.

“You sure as hell didn’t get it from any intelligence agencies,” Fett all but groused before changing the subject, “How many went in?”

“Three, Alessio and two of his friends: Gio Romano and Lucio Alessi,” you explained, not even questioning sharing the information with him for some reason.

You both watched as Alessio swung the loading dock door open, hitting the car’s bumper with a loud bang. Lucio cursed, gesturing to the dent now in his bumper before grudgingly helping the other man with a sloppily rolled-up rug tied up at the ends with rope.

“Well, we know where Gio went,” Fett stated blandly.

You quirked an eyebrow at him in question.

He shook his head, “What do you think they are doing loading up a lumpy rolled-up rug in an abandoned warehouse?”

Oh, ooooh.

There was a body in that rug, Gio Romano’s body.

Fuck.

“That was a mob hit?” You sounded a bit more dazed than what you preferred, but then again you had been here to scope the man out on his illicit trysts, not murder.

The bounty hunter grunted in affirmative, “Indeed, and now it is time I get you the fuck out of here.”

This time you followed Fett back down the alley towards the street, doing your best to keep up with his quick and fluid strides. It didn’t take long to arrive on the street.

“Get in,” Fett growled out as he opened the passenger side car of, apparently, his car. He didn’t even wait for you to get in before he was already stalking around to the driver’s side.

The car started up with a purr smoother than you had assumed it would since the outside of the car itself looked a little beat up. It was an odd combination of dirty-looking cream and rust-colored paints. There had also been a litany of scraps and scruffs and perhaps even some bullet holes probably from shootouts. Fett wasn't known for only going after easy bounties after all, so it made sense his car would be well used and abused. That just didn’t translate to the engine apparently.

You both rode in silence for a bit before Fett started talking.

“So, when were you going to realize you were over your pretty little head? When they were rolling up Gio’s body into the trunk of their car or when they put you in a pair of cement shoes?”

You huffed, “Well, since you interrupted me, how are you to know I wasn’t going to come up with a great plan?”

He shook his head, biting out a bark of what was supposed to be laughter.

“Your father was a blindly incompetent private detective and wasn’t even half the amount of trouble you are,” Boba muttered.

You grinned at him even as Fett kept his eyes on the dark road.

“Sounds like I’m doing just fine to me.”

~*~

Over the short car ride, you managed to convince Fett it would behoove him to work with you. After all, you had photographic evidence of a mob hit and that wasn’t worth nothing. You didn’t even need to take the photos in to be developed.

Your father, who had been a rather poor private detective like Fett had said, had been a rather talented amateur photographer. He even had set up his own darkroom in a large closet of his office which you had taken over.

It was best, in your opinion, to break bread with your associates and where better to do that but Vivi’s Diner? It was open 24-hours, which was perfect since it was now verging on one in the morning. And Vivi’s also happened to have your favorite desserts.

Using the side of the stainless steel fork to slice into the apple pie, it made a grating sound off the restaurant china. Your mother would have been horrified that you hadn’t used your knife, but the cutting look Fett gave you at the sound was worth it.

“Okay, Toots, what’s the plan?” you asked after eating a sizable bite of the pie, it was sweet from the fruit and burst with cinnamon.

The bounty hunter glowered at you over his coffee. You couldn’t help notice that he drank it without cream but had added a dash sugar.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What? Toots?” you asked, unable to hide your smirk. “Would you prefer Mr. Fett?”

“Call me Mr. Fett and I’ll be calling you Doll,” he said drolly, leaning back against the back of his seat and laying an arm on the top of it. “Mr. Fett was my father, my friends call me Boba, you can call me Fett.”

His shoulders stretched tight against the leather of his bomber jacket in a delicious manner you tried not to notice but failed.

“I want to hear your plan, Miss Marple,” he smirked when your lip curled in distaste at the nickname. “How would a pretty thing like you capture a mob hitman?”

That reaction of distaste you instantly knew was a mistake. A mistake that would probably mean that was what he was going to call you ‘Miss-kriffing-Marple’ for the rest of the time the two of you were working together. Great.

“Well,” you spoke around another bite of pie, the dessert too good to eat with good manners when Fett, clearly, didn’t care about such things. “I figure we sneak into the Silvano’s while Alessio is busy with his pants down and shake him down there. From what I see he is there every Saturday night.”

Fett looked completely bemused at this, “You do know the moment I walk in that fancy mob joint I’ll be clocked. I am the most infamous bounty hunter on at least this coast, as you so kindly pointed out, everyone there would be on their guard. Including the man who recently rolled up a body in a carpet.”

You didn’t even have to wait for him to take a sip of his coffee, he did it automatically already pleased with himself having so easily struck down your idea, so you hit back.

“Of course, that’s why you’d be the one dressed like one of the dancing girls.”  
  
Fett’s face turned a slight shade of red as he struggled to not spit out his drink onto the table, or perhaps more embarrassingly dribble it out of his mouth and down his shirt. You just speared an errant apple slice and popped it into your mouth, not bothering to hide the smirk. Served him right, this was going to be fun working with this sourpuss while it lasted.

~*~*~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Boba come up with a plan to take in Franco Alessio, the man your client has you tailing and who also has a bounty on his head.

You were dressed to perfection, had to be to get into where you were headed tonight, the skirt flaring out stylishly due to some starched petticoats. It was perfect for hiding the little pistol you owned, the volume of the skirt making the weapon strapped to your upper leg, invisible to the casual observer.

Apparently, Boba Fett was not a casual observer.

“You really need that piece, Ms. Marple?” He bluntly asked, eyes ahead on the road, not looking at you at all as you sat in the passenger seat. He had arrived on time just as had been discussed earlier, but hadn’t seemed to particularly pleased. Though his face always looked that way -- slightly annoyed that is -- so perhaps that was just him.

You blinked, having barely gotten into his car and he was already calling you by that stupid nickname and also seemingly questioning your choice of… accessories.

“I figured it wouldn’t hurt,” you said primly, smoothing your skirt even though it didn’t need to be.

Fett just made a derisive sound before launching into quizzing you about the plan.

Hell, this man was infuriating. You knew the whole plan, of course, backward and forwards and sideways after he had been done with you. It was impossible to tell if he was happy you knew it all or disappointed that he didn’t have an excuse to go over it again, the line between his dark brows remained exactly the same as it always looked.

God though, this was boring, just driving in this tense silence.

Peaking at him from the side of your eye, you went to turn on the radio. After all, why not use it if you had it?

“Don’t,” Fett tisked, but didn’t move to stop you as you patently ignored him and flipped to a station you knew was playing one of your favorite syndications — Murder at Midnight. The radio program should be starting shortly and the drive had plenty of time.

“Oh, come on toots,” you teased, feeling brave since he hadn’t turned it right off, “We have some time for the macabre.”

The bounty hunter just grunted and took a moment to scowl at you, though in the low light of the dark car you could have sworn that you saw a flicker of some other emotion there as well. But it was gone just as quickly as the passing glare of the yellow street lights.

Pleased with having won… something, you weren’t exactly sure what, you settled back into your seat and listened to the swelling organ music and the host giving his introduction.

_“Midnight, the witching hour when the night is darkest, our fears the strongest, and our strength at its lowest ebb. Midnight, when the graves gape open and death strikes.”_

~*~

Silvano’s, owned by the titular Silvano Costa, was the height of glittering and shiny mob decadence. Not that anyone would dare accuse Costa of having such ties. He was an upstanding man, after all, one who just happened to wine and dine all the right political players, police chiefs, judges, and the like. And since Costa wasn’t the one doing his own dirty work? They all let it slide for the good time that could be found because of him.

Fett hopped out of the car and gave the keys to a young parking attendant along with what looked like a sizable tip if the surprised look the teenager gave him was any indication. Considering that Fett’s car wasn’t like so many of the tiny new Cadillacs that were being parked tonight, the kid must have thought he was getting the short stick with this one.

You didn’t bother waiting for Fett to get your door, taking a moment to take the sight in and you weren’t even inside yet.

The crowd here was also not at all the type you ran with. You could tell from the tuxes and gowns alone that these people either had come from money or had acquired it. Boba Fett and you? You were dressed passably, not everyone was dressed to the nines, but Fett was a bit more out of place.

He was dressed… well enough, you supposed. Clean, well kept, curly hair slicked back — even though one stubborn curl had popped free of the pomade and was at odds with his general demeanor — but the way he carried himself? He just screamed that he was ready for shit to go down even though he also looked relaxed.

You jolted with surprise when he offered his arm with a quirked eyebrow that clearly said: can you play the part?

Smiling oh so sweetly, as he had just handed you a slice of your favorite apple pie, to tucked your hand into his proffered arm.

“So,” you said in a cheery tone, “Shall we?”

As you both came to the entrance, you tried your best to not think on the shifting solid forearm you could feel under Fett’s clothes. Maker, you had figured he was strong but this was a bit of a distraction.

“Play along,” Fett muttered in your direction before extracting his arm from your hand and moving to pull you in close. The weight of his hand resting heavy and warm on your side, the sensation causing the earlier distraction to become a bit more acute.

One of the bouncers, who had been discreetly off to the side until now, came over and didn’t look extremely pleased, “What are you doing here, Fett?”

“Even bounty hunters have nights off,” Fett said in a careless manner, his hand running very conspicuously over your side. “And you know your boss doesn’t have any beef with me.”

You could tell the bouncer had seen the movement from the smirk on their face.

“Just don’t cause any trouble,” he said as he finally moved aside.

The warning came out rather lackluster, who threatened Boba Fett anyway?

Inside the joint, you couldn’t help it when your eyes widened at the sight. It was luxe and ostentatious, thick velvet curtains in crimson and edged in thick gold fringe, Corinthian style columns held up the ceiling of the main room, while dark carpets lined the main dining area. From another room came the dulcet tones of a singer and a jazz band playing.

“Stop staring, Ms. Marple, or they’ll wonder if you’ve never been to a place like this,” Fett said, with what you might have mistaken for a hint of a smirk. But, of course, there wasn’t a smirk when you turned to him with slightly narrowed eyes, just his normal face not giving away anything.

“Well, maybe I haven’t,” you sniffed.

“Why don’t you go freshen up, Dolly, and I’ll get you a drink,” Fett practically ordered, tone suddenly now more hushed.

His mouth was nearly brushing over the shell of your ear as you glanced in the direction of the bar.

Glancing over, you noticed a man at the bar watching the both of you, as Fett’s hand sat firmly on your back. You shivered at his warm breath, wanting to lean into the touch, before refraining. You wanted to shoot a glare at him for ditching you so quickly but the plan was to split up after all.

“I think I will,” you reply, opening your clutch before snapping it back closed again. “Toots.”

Grinning and making a show of kissing the air over his cheek — which might have been clean-shaven this morning but already had stubble peeking through — before you were gliding away from him. You did your best to not notice some of the looks that were being thrown your way, it was to be expected after all seeing who your… now extra glowery companion was.

The ladies' room was easy enough to find, and it was just as decorated as the rest of the place. There was even a small sitting area with some velvet sofas for if any ladies needed to take a few moments to relax.

Fishing the gold lipstick bullet out of your little handbag, the brand name ‘Tangee’ in a prettily debossed font on the side, you leaned forward towards the mirror to reapply the lipstick.

It was fine, everything was going kriffing copacetic.

Except it didn’t go fine. When you tried to sneak further into the more private area of the building, where Fett had told you where Mr. Alessio most likely was with the other made men and capos, you were waylaid. One of the ladies caught your arm in hers and just had to talk to you since you were new to the joint.

You smiled and let yourself be chatted at, and tried to catch Fett’s eye from across the room for him to save you from this absolutely boring drip. But you didn’t see him.

Trying to not be too rude, you made the appropriate listening noises as this girl — what had she said her name was? Sally maybe? — just kept talking, you searched for Fett. He wasn’t at the bar ordering drinks, nor near the dance floor (not that you really expected that he would be there), and he wasn’t at a table, so where in the world had he gone?

“Do you think we’ll see it?” the girl, maybe her name was Dorothy, said.

“Hmm?”

“Oh you know,” she giggled, her smile sly now. “When they go to toss out that bounty hunter you came here with.”

~*~

The next few minutes were a blur with one of the bouncers swooping in and taking your elbow in a firm grip as you realized that Mandy, or Dot, or whatever, had been in on whatever was happening. Made you feel like you were the chucklehead rather than her, her vapid conversation and clinging presence having just been to distract you and it had worked.

You could only be thankful for her when she was the one checking you over for weapons in the bathroom rather than the brutish bouncer. The little pistol was quickly found and confiscated and she had even pocketed your damn lipstick out of your purse.

“I just love the color,” she had effused before you were being hustled somewhere into the back.

These rooms were certainly not decorated like the front rooms, they were stark and the lighting unwelcoming rather than sparkling.

There was some sort of odd soft thumping sounds coming from a room the bouncer was forcing you in.

It soon became apparent what those sounds were when you saw some dudes who had been apparently whaling on a man who was sprawled out on the floor.

“Who are you here for bounty hunter?” The one spat out, and you saw that the man on the floor was, in fact, Boba Fett.

“Kark you,” Fett spat out, “Can’t a man just have a night out?”

That was met with disbelieving looks and huffs, they obviously didn’t think Boba fricking Fett ever just had a ‘night out’. You were inclined to agree with them if you were going to be honest, and that wasn’t just because you, in fact, knew you both were here for someone.

The leader of the group then looked at you, “And you had to come dragging a pretty face in here with you.” He tisked, “But that’s not my issue now, is it…”

The man then pulled a gun from a holster underneath his jacket and, without ceremony, shot Fett in the side.

The sound echoed in the small room, causing your ears to ring as you instinctively flinched away and covered your them. Eyes wide as you watched Boba looking rather incredulous at the man who had just dared to shoot him while he was down on the floor.

“Don Costa will see you later, once we tell him you’re here,” the man said before gesturing to the bouncer who was still behind you.

You found yourself being shoved further into the room. You stumbled just barely keeping your feet underneath you as the door was closed and locked behind you.

Glancing behind you, you breathed a sigh of something like relief when you saw they had left the two of you alone for the moment. Then you realized it was because they were going to go get Don Costa. Literally, the biggest man involved with the mob in this city, you could only guess what he would do with you. Would you be wearing a pair of cement shoes shortly?

But a pained grunt interrupted your spiraling panic.

“Shitshitshit,” you whispered, hurrying to kneel by Boba’s slumped body.

He bit back a groan as he tried to get up, head rolling slightly as if to assess any damage.

“I’m fine,” he wheezed out even as you saw blood blooming through the white of his shirt.

“Bullshit, Fett,” you bit out. “You got shot in the gut!”

“Marple, stop.”

But you already had ripped his shirt out of his trousers, and jerked the hem up expecting to find a horrible stomach wound, but were greeted with a wall of literal metal instead. The man was wearing a type of kriffing bulletproof armor. You could see the dark streaking trajectory the bullet had taken, glancing across the metal surface and just nicking into his side.

The man had the damn gall to grin at you, face bloody from a cut that ran above his left eyebrow.

“Worth it,” he said, opening up a clenched fist to show a key.

You gaped at him for a moment, holding the damn key like a prize, before you gave him a half-hearted smack to his upper arm.

“You pulled that stunt and let yourself get beat up, get shot, for a fucking key?!” you scolded the bounty hunter as you dig in your bag for the cloth handkerchief you kept in there. You wanted to hit him again, but refrained… barely. Instead you used the handkerchief to bind up the wound as best you could.

He had the gall to just shrug as he got up, “It worked.”

You stare at him like he is a complete idiot, “Please tell me how it is you haven’t died yet working on your own?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but you cut him off, “Don’t. I really don’t want to know.”

“As you wish, Ms. Marple, though I think you’ll be happy to know this key,” he tapped it against your chin for emphasis, “is going to get us out of here.”

True to his word, the key went to the door of the room you both were locked in so you didn’t rip him a new one… yet.

“You stay back,” Fett ordered. “Should just be one guard if I know these di’kute.”

You didn’t recognize the word, but you understood his meaning — idiots. Standing back, you watched Boba carefully unlock the door, the key silent in the mechanism with how carefully he moved.

The moment it was unlocked, he waited several long beats, head cocked to the side waiting for something. He then whipped the door open, surprising the single guard who made a surprised sound before Fett had grabbed the man by the front of his shirt. He used his body weight to push the mobster until they were leaning back, about to lose their balance. Boba then quickly jerked the man back so that the mobster’s face hit the top of Boba’s head with a resounding crack.

The mobster slumped to the ground when Boba roughly let go of him, blood streaming out of his nose and clearly unconscious. The bounty hunter then knelt down to nick the mobster’s gun before quickly tying him up with his own silk tie.

Blinking, you let Fett practically drag you behind him down the hall, not back towards the dining area, but towards the back of the building. He seemed to know where he was going from how he kept you both moving.

“Is he?” You couldn’t even finish the question, but Fett seemed to know what you meant to ask.

“Shouldn’t be, skull’s too thick,” came the reply. His words were so gruff it took you a moment to realize that Boba Fett was? Attempting humor? You weren’t sure if this night could get any stranger.

He just kept barreling down hallways until you both practically tumbled through a door that led to the outside, the next goal being very clearly the parking lot.

“Wait! Wait,” you whispered, pulling on his sleeve. He paused long enough to see what you were seeing, Franco Alessio going out to the parking lot. Your first bit of luck this evening, it seemed.

Fett grunted an affirmative that he saw the mark.

“You go distract him, get him close to the car. It should be on the far end,” Fett said before moving to leave you.

“How in the world do you know where the car is?” You hissed.

He looked at you with a smirk as he dangled the keys in front of you. When had he gotten those back?

“I paid that kid, didn’t I? Told him where I wanted the car and to get the keys back to me, thankfully he was quick and got them to me before I was pulled into the back.” And with that he disappeared into a dark shadow, moving much quieter then you thought a grown man should be able to.

Huffing, you started off after Alessio, mind whirring with what the kriff were you going to even say to ‘distract him’ as Fett had put it, but you weren’t about to admit defeat to anyone and least of all him.

“Excuse me, sir,” your voice came out overly bubbly and high pitched, but you rolled with it when Alessio turned to you. “I seem to have gotten mixed up with where my car is? It would be swell if you could help me look for it.”

It was a paper-thin story, you didn’t even have a set of car keys, but Mr. Alessio didn’t seem to be the sharpest knife in the drawer and fell for the story easily. He was sickeningly charming as he walked alongside you, even going so far as to put a hand on your back when you tripped over an uneven spot in the gravel.

He didn’t remove the hand even after you steadied yourself, his touch making your skin crawl and his overwhelming cologne made your stomach roil. Where the kriff was the car anyway? Had you missed it?

“Hands where I can see them,” came a gruff voice from behind you. Thank the Maker, Fett had finally come through. You had been really regretting not having your own little pistol when this slime ball kept pressing his luck trying to slide his hand further and further down.

You and Alessio both turned to see Fett gesture at the mobster with the gun, making it clear he should go towards where you saw the now-familiar dirty cream and rust-colored car, “Over there.”

The man blinked for a moment as you stepped away from him and towards Fett, the cogs finally turning and clicking into place for him.

“You _bitch_ ,” Alessio hissed out, his face turning red with indignation.

You shrugged with a saccharine smile, “Just doing a job, Mr. Alessio, I hope there is no hard feelings.”

He just mumbled something insulting in Italian in your general direction, his eyes unable to leave the gun Fett had on him.

“Here, Marple, hold onto this,” Fett said, handing you the gun. His hand was large and warm against your skin as you took the weapon from him. “Just shoot him and not me if he tries to run, right?”

Sniffing you looked at him offended, “Might shoot you for the insinuation, Fett.”

The bastard just smirked at you before he went to work gagging and trussing Mr. Alessio up and shoving him in the trunk. It was fitting, you mused, as all that man had just recently been shoving a body in his own car. Really he should be grateful he was still alive and not rolled up in a rug.

Fett closed the trunk of the car, Franco’s incensed face, mouth stuffed with his own tie, disappearing from view.

There wasn’t time to relax though when you heard several guys coming into the parking lot and they sounded angry.

“Come here,” you ground out, your tone not brooking argument as you pulled Fett closer.

He looked as if he was going to argue even as you both could hear the voices and footsteps nearing the car. Desperation fueled your movements as your hands flew up to grip at the collar of his jacket and jerk him in close enough to smash your mouth onto his.

You heard him grunt in grunt in confusion and consternation, his hands steadfastly hanging at his sides. He was tense with what you thought must be anger until something broke and he was fiercely kissing you back.

His hands were large on your back, firmly pulling you in closer as he crowded in until you were pressed into the metal side of the car. You told yourself it was just for show to keep the mobsters from realizing who was making out in the parking lot as Boba firmly slid his knee between your legs, the layers of your skirt and petticoats getting pushed up. And it was all just for show when you buried a hand into his soft curls, how was his hair that soft, and when you arched into his chest not minding the press of the hard metal of his bulletproof vest against your chest.

Some part of your brain heard the mobsters make some crude comment when they saw the pair of you before moving on, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered right now was the absolute devastation you felt when Boba pulled away. The voices had faded, having just been some other party goers and not on the lookout for bounty hunters or private detectives.

You both looked at each other wide-eyed and panting for a moment and then Boba had one hand slipping the gun from your grasp — funny, you had forgotten you had been holding that — and the other hand cradled you jaw, pulling you back in. The heat in his touch made you feel sheltered in him, a calming cove in the middle of a storm. He tilted your face and then his tongue slid over your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You opened for him without thought.

Oh lord, the low deep sound that came out of Boba’s throat as he undertook the mapping of your mouth, sent a spark of aching heat right into your core. He must have done something with the gun for he pulled you flush against him again, his palm dry and warm at your back and somehow so careful with you even as you both tried to devour the other.

Eventually, you both had to break apart again to breathe. But you were going to be damned if you were going to let him get away now, your hands sliding to take a firm grip on his jacket.

The moment was interrupted by a muffled thump coming from the trunk of the car.

“I suppose we should get going,” you say, unsure how you can sound so level headed when your stomach was full of butterflies.

The butterflies doubled when you saw Boba’s mouth quirk up in a momentary small smile.

~*~

Turning Franco in for the bounty reward was normal, boring even. Well, perhaps except for the fact that you had done so with the most infamous bounty hunter in the state and had to pull the pissed off and rumpled Franco out of the car trunk. That had been rather fun, to be honest.

The paperwork, however? Horrible.

It was also slightly complicated by the fact that you handed over the photographic evidence you had of the mob hit from the previous day. You had been able to develop the photos and handed them and the film over to the police along with your and Fett’s statements. And to think this all started out with another wife looking to find out if her husband was cheating on her or not. Now the chucklehead was getting booked for murder and you had a very very nice check in your purse as Boba Fett drove you back home. It was just odd how life worked out sometimes.

You waited for a beat unsure of what to say as the car pulled up and then idled in front of your apartment.

Glancing over at Fett, you saw he was looking at you, the line between his eyes deep in thought while the hazy light of the pre-dawn hour washed over you both.

“So, till next time, I suppose?”

“I work alone,” he said, his frown still in place.

You smirked, you had a very good feeling the frown was just his normal resting face.

“I dunno Fett, we seemed to make a good team,” you went to open the car door, purse in hand. “But if you insist on working alone, I’ll have you know I won’t be helping you out every time you decide to get shot-”

You were interrupted as Boba stopped you from opening the door, his one brow raised and mouth quirking.

“You drive a hard bargain, Marple,” he teased.

It took you aback for a moment before a smile spread over your face, not even minding the stupid nickname, “Careful, Fett, or I might start to think you like me.”

He moved in so close you could smell his aftershave, it smelled of sage and cinnamon, cedarwood, and musk. It was overwhelming with his closeness, mysterious. Yet… there was a layer of warmth there that you haven’t noticed before.

“Maybe I do, Marple. Maybe I do,” Boba murmured before leaning in to kiss you.

~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1940’s Slang:  
> Copacetic - Fine, okay  
> Drip - a boring person  
> Chucklehead - unintelligent person
> 
> Mando’a:  
> Di’kute - idiots


End file.
